To the Races Again
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: REWRITE on flyspecks' account...When one of Ractrack's jockey friends is injured, he takes it upon himself to help his friend, fondly known as James the Fly. But what if James the Fly isn't really who he says he is?
1. Fly Away

**Author's Note:** So this was wandering around in my brain and I decided to put it down on paper...and post it here! I don't really know how much further I'm going to go with this story, I suppose it all depends on the type of feedback I get ha ha, anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it!

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, Newsies: not mine. James the Fly: mine. Mollie: also mine. :D

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"God Fly, she's a beaut," Racetrack Higgins said in awe, admiring the chestnut mare in the stall. Her lean muscles twitched as she turned around in the small space she occupied, facing them with a nicker.

James the Fly reached his hand out, stroking the horse's silky neck. "She's one a the best horses I've ever had the opportunity ta race," he admitted, smiling at the animal.

"Fly and Penny, goin' all the way!" Racetrack announced in a triumphant tone. "Who woulda thought a goil horse would best so many stallions." Race puffed out his chest jokingly at the word 'stallion'.

Fly rolled his eyes and punched him playfully. "Oh yeah, who woulda thought a _goil_ could get the bettah of all those guys," he laughed, but his statement carried a deeper meaning that Race didn't catch. "And a goil horse is called a _mare,_ Race. How many times I gotta tell ya?"

"Speakin' a goils," Race wiggled his eyebrows, "Is Mollie heah t'day?"

Fly blushed and looked away in embarrassment. "Er, no," he replied.

Racetrack chuckled. "Ya know, ya two would be good tahgethah," he pointed out.

Fly pulled his helmet further onto his head, fidgeting with the snaps on the side. "Oh, no," he denied. "She likes you just fine."

Race couldn't help but grin. "Well, it _is_ me."

Fly rolled his eyes again and smiled up at Racetrack. "And who could resist a gamblin', smokin', Italian?" Fly joked.

Race chuckled, looking off towards the large clock tower in the distance. "Well, I'd bettah get back ta the seats," Race observed. "See ya aftah the race?"

Fly nodded, "Sure, sure," and watched as Race sauntered off to place his bet.

Once finding a relatively good place to sit, or as good as Race could ever find, he opened the paper he had saved for himself to read, scanning the stories. Everyday Race kept one paper for himself, feeling it was important to be up-to-date on the happenings of Manhattan. Typically he'd sell the paper at the end of the day to some loser who had missed out when the newsies were running about. That way, Race could have his paper and sell it too.

The trumpet signaling the beginning of the race blared its song, drawing attention to the snorting horses being lined up. Race folded his paper and let it rest in his lap as he looked up. Fly was among the middle of the bunch, sporting the colors green and white. A low chant began throughout the crowd. "Fly! Fly! Fly!" Race grinned, joining in on the cheer. From across the track Fly saluted, sending the spectators wild. He had quite the fans.

Racetrack felt privileged to be acquainted with the quiet, introverted jockey, even if it had only been a couple of months ago that they'd met. He remembered it clearly. He had been down in the stables, chatting up Mollie, the cute stable hand, when he brought up the name James the Fly. A slight tint rose into Mollie's cheeks, making Race laugh, accusing her of having a crush on the jockey, then admitting that he himself would probably faint at the prospect of meeting the guy. Mollie promised she'd pull a few strings, saying she had to get back to work, and shooing Race out to where the general public was supposed to reside. Lo and behold, the very next day, Fly came up and introduced himself to Race, explaining Mollie had told him of what a fan Racetrack was. He had indeed fainted for a moment, much to the amusement of Fly, who apparently told Mollie, who always teased the newsie for his girlish reaction.

He sighed, wallowing in the memory. A frown marred his usually easy-going expression for just a moment at the thought of Mollie. Race hadn't seen her for quite some time, and he promised, then and there, that he'd hang around the stables with her soon. She was a pretty girl, with dark blonde hair, nearly brown. Her eyes were a dark gray. She, like Fly, didn't call attention to herself and enjoyed being on the sidelines and out of the spotlight. Racetrack thought they would be a perfect match, though he had never seen the two around each other; he had heard people with similar features fell for each other, and Mollie and Fly had many alike facial expressions. Maybe they were related, Racetrack mused. That must have been it. He made a mental note to ask one of his friends when he was able to talk with them next.

Which, hopefully, would be after the race that Fly won. Fly always won.

The gunshot rang across the landscape and the horses bolted, Penny and James the Fly taking the lead. By the smile on Fly's face, it was easy to see that the track was where he belonged. It was on the second bend that Race realized something was wrong. Fly's smile was gone.

After that day, no one would be able to say what exactly happened, or be able to pin-point the exact moment of the problem, but somehow, Fly was launched from Penny's back, hitting the dirt sickeningly hard.

Fly, landing directly in the path of oncoming racers, was left vulnerable and dizzy on the track. At the speeds they were going, none of the jockeys could veer away in time, and Fly was in the middle of a stampede. A horse glanced off Fly's leg, causing the boy to yell out in pain as he scrambled, no longer dazed from his sudden fall, for the edge of the tack. With his head spinning and his body aching, Fly was unable to make it off the track before being struck in the side of the head by a passing horse's hoof.

The blow was enough to knock Fly out cold, and he slumped like a rag doll, broken in the mud. The entire stadium was silent and on their feet; no one had even considered the possibility that James the Fly would be thrown during a race, much less stampeded by his fellow jockeys, who were now dismounting and running to their fallen comrade.

The crowd erupted into gasps and a few wails and cries as people charged for the stairs, trying to get down to the track level, closer to Fly. The medics were arriving, far too slow for Race's liking as he pushed his way to the fence that separated the viewers from the track. To the side Racetrack noticed Fly's employer, Penny's owner, shaking his head, face in hand. Race couldn't tell if it was in worry or disappointment.

As the doctors removed Fly's helmet, a ripple of shock swept through the crowd and Race squinted, not believing his eyes.

The jockey known as James the Fly had dirty blonde hair, and Race knew now why he had never seen Mollie and Fly together. It was because they were _always_ together. It was because Mollie _was_ James the Fly.

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**Author's Note:** Well, there's the beginning, I'm not sure if I'm quite happy with it, but let me know what you thought, I don't care if you didn't like it, just offer constructive criticism...because, as usual, flames will be used for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows at the bonfire for people who actually liked the start of the story :P tee hee


	2. Waking Up Mollie

**Author's Note:** So it's been awhile, and this chapter is short, but I kind of have a feeling that the chapters for this story are going to be on the short side for some reason, I don't know why, I just have a feeling...

Anyway, thank you to your reviews! They were pretty awesome!

**Disclaimer:** Fly/Mollie is mine! (and don't worry, one name will be picked for her in the upcoming chapters so it won't always be so confusing/annoying flipping between Mollie and Fly or James)

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Mollie…or Fly…or whatever the girl would be called next…was stretched out in a hospital bed, eyes closed, breathing evenly. A coma. That's what the head hoity-toity doctor had called her condition.

Mr. Warren, Fly's employer, was shaking his head, "I knew I shouldn't have hired a _girl_." He spat out the last word. Racetrack grimaced. How typical that a tycoon like Warren would turn a blind eye to all of the girl's triumphs on the track.

The doctor nodded. "Should've known better Warren, nothing good was ever to come of this."

"Nothing but a large sum of money!"

"Of which I now share!"

The two gray haired men chortled together, holding their bellies and grinning from ear to ear as Racetrack sat in the corner with a wilting potted plant.

"Well now," Warren began, the two suddenly serious, "How are we to wake her up so she can continue to clean up my horse's shit?"

Racetrack gaped at Mr. Warren's use of language. Suits usually had the decency to not show their bad side around street rats like him; usually too scared that some poor bloke would out them as vulgar and their reputation would be ruined.

"That's easy!" the doctor exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "We simply need to get someone to kiss her."

Warren wrinkled his nose. "But she smells like my horse's shit."

Racetrack raised an eyebrow as Warren once again swore.

"Well how about that boy?" the doctor asked, pointing to the corner that Racetrack resided in. Race looked over his shoulder, searching for the boy who had been elected for the job.

Only once Warren had pulled him to his feet and over to the bed did Racetrack realized that _he_ was the boy. Warren and the doctor shoved him close to Fly, chanting, "Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her."

Racetrack tried backing away, but found he was froze in place; he tried turning away, but everywhere he looked was Fly's peaceful face, just waiting; he tried to drown out Warren and the doctor's words; he screamed…

Racetrack awoke, nearly hitting his head on the bottom of Blink's bunk and disturbing all of the newsies at the Lodging House.

"Race, what is it?" Jack Kelly mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and glaring at his friend. If it was one thing Jack hated, it was being awakened in the dead of night.

Other boy's heads popped up, peering over to where Race had suddenly sat up straight. He was covered in a cool sweat as he ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. "Uh, nothin', nothin', bad dream 's all," he explained.

Most of the newsies went back to bed, grumbling in irritation. "Oh, Race," Jack mumbled once again before pulling the covers over his head and snoring. Blink, who was hanging upside down form his bunk above, raised one eyebrow. "Ya sure you'se okay, Race?" he questioned.

Race grinned, placing his hand over Blink's face and shoving. "Yeah, I'se fine Blink, now go back ta bed!"

Blink chuckled and did as Race said.

Racetrack sighed, settling back down in his bed, putting his arms behind his head and staring intently at the bunk above. It wasn't that his dream had been _bad_, just surprising to Race. He closed his eyes, bringing the memory before his eyes. He made a face and scratched his head. What exactly was that dream all about? Sure he thought Mollie was cute, and she was fun to hang around, but he didn't want her in any way other than a friend.

Or so he thought. He didn't know what to think anymore. After one of his closest friends turned out to be someone else as equally important in Race's life, his world had been tilted. He stayed, thinking, until Kloppman came to get everyone up and out on the streets.

Racetrack went through the morning motions in a daze, not even noticing how Skittery refused Race a towel, still trying to figure out the mystery of his dream, until he heard Blink yell. Race's head snapped up and he saw Blink holding a paper out to him. "Hey, ain't this the goil at the track you'se always goin' on about?"

Race blushed and snatched the paper out of Blink's ink-stained fingers, staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the front page of the World. There were two pictures, one of a grinning James the Fly mounted on Penny after winning his first race, and one of Mollie, softly smiling with pink cheeks, straw in her hair, and a pitchfork in her hand. Race couldn't choose which picture he liked better.

"They made the front page!" Mush squealed, he was a fan of Fly's after Racetrack had gone on and on about what a good jockey he was.

Blink shook his head, pointing at the picture, "No, Mush, they'se the same people."

Mush blinked quite rapidly. "What?"

Racetrack sighed, "Mollie was Fly the whole time, and she never told me." He threw the paper back in Blink's face, not understanding his new feeling of betrayal. Didn't Mollie know she could tell him anything? Didn't she trust him? Apparently not.

Racetrack made his way to Tibby's, in no mood to view his two—no, one—friend on the front page all day.

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**Author's Note:** So like I said, short short short chapter, but not too shabby ha ha

Leave a review people and you shall be rewarded...with another chapter and some more Racetrack!!! Woo!! Who doesn't want more Racetrack I ask you? No one! That is the answer, which is why there should be numerous reviews, so that more Racetrack arrives soon!


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